The Kill
by LetMeLeadForever
Summary: After he had taken his trusty knife from his bag, he set it on the ground. It had been far too long since he had killed. He twisted the blade in his hand, taking a few steps towards the bed and letting his eyes run over the face of the snoring boy. The boy that looked so soft and fragile, so vulnerable in his sleeping state. Derek couldn't bring himself to kill him.


**Disclaimer - I do not own Teen Wolf. **

**Warnings: Minor character death, descriptions of violence and torture.**

* * *

It had started a while ago. Derek's first kills were his family and up until that point, he had never thought of killing anyone. Kate used to say things to him about killing, little things that he had never noticed until he took the time to look back. He realized how she had been manipulating him, changing his thoughts to think like her, ever since he had first met her. It wasn't even subtle; Derek was just far too in love with the thought of having someone outside his own family that loved him to care.

"Imagine the power you would feel as you saw the lights of her eyes flicker out," she had said once in regards to his mother when she had made a negative comment on what Kate was wearing. He hadn't thought much about it at the time; he'd been far too absorbed in the way her eyes twinkled when she smiled that beautiful smile that made his heart skip a beat. He, also, didn't want to think about how much of a power rush that could bring, or how good it would feel.

The comment was so normal for Kate to say that it didn't strike him as odd in the slightest.

Maybe Derek should have been paying more attention to those sorts of things. Maybe then he would have realised just what he was getting himself into. His attention was always drawn away from the comments and to her hair or her smile, or the way she danced around. He should've known better.

He had tried his hardest for years to blame Kate for the death of his family, for the way they burned to the ground. He knew, though, that it was just as much his fault as it was hers, even if it caused him actual pain to admit that.

"We could kill them, you know," Kate had whispered into his ear as they laid together in the back of her father's car, legs tangled together with a blanket covering them. He chuckled at the idea, such an extreme reaction from the girl just because Derek had been told he wasn't allowed to see her again. He didn't understand what his parents had against her but they hadn't ever liked her and, recently, they had decided that he couldn't see her anymore.

"We could," Kate informed him with more vigour, looking at him with eyes that told him that she wasn't kidding. "and then we could be together forever, with nothing in our way to stop us. Wouldn't that just be perfect?"

"Maybe." Derek hummed as he reached out to run his fingers through her blonde locks, having no real intention of killing his family. Back then, he doubted just how convincing the girl was, just how far she'd go to get what she wanted.

Kate poured the gasoline but he had struck the match. He had lit the fire that killed his family just because Kate had promised to stay with him forever, a promise she never kept. Looking back, Kate had detailed every other killing method, purposely leaving out death by burning. Maybe so that Derek would suggest it and eventually, in the aftermath, he'd blame himself because it was essentially _his_ idea and not _hers_.

Derek could still remember the look on her face as the fire started, when he saw the wood beginning to blacken and the screams grow louder. She hadn't ever looked more beautiful, eyes bright and shining, her face glowing because of the flames, and cackling almost as loudly as the fire. They had watched the fire for almost half an hour, far after the screams had stopped, and they had left just before emergency services had come, leaving to find a motel to stay in.

When he woke up, Kate was gone and the horrible truth of what had happened, what he had done because of empty promises, hit him.

The fire was all over the news. There had always been talk of the Hales, he could remember the way people used to look at the family that hid themselves away in the forest. The fire was just another thing to fuel their imagination about his family. He doesn't remember much about the coverage of the fire – he doesn't want to look at the papers Laura kept, either – but he could remember that it took a life of someone that wasn't a Hale. Claudia Stilinski, a fire-fighter that had died trying to rescue everyone.

Derek still regretted killing his family. Everyday he thought back on what he had lost, what he had taken from himself, but he couldn't bring himself to feel regret for where their deaths had led him.

After Derek had killed his family and Kate had left, he snapped. He'd lost everything he'd ever cared about.

Maybe there were better ways to deal with it, like counselling but he chose not to go there. He found a method that worked for him, that's all that really mattered. Besides, he couldn't exactly tell anyone – not even Laura, who had miraculously survived the fire – that he had killed his own family, could he? He couldn't even look at Laura or visit Peter in the hospital, he felt far too much guilt. It all hurt far too much. He needed to get away from them, far away from Beacon Hills.

* * *

The next person he killed was a nobody. He made sure of that, made sure that it was just some homeless guy that no one would miss. No one really paid attention to the scum that littered the street, so who would notice? If anything, he was doing New York a favour in making sure there was one less person disturbing the peace. At least, that was the excuse Derek would give if he was ever caught. Not that he would be, he had been far too careful to be caught.

He could still remember the rush he had gotten from killing his own family, even if he didn't want to admit that it had caused him so much pleasure, and he wanted that again, he _craved_ it. Besides, he'd already killed so many people, what was the harm of killing one more? Or twenty more? It gave him the power he wanted and it rid people of their pathetic lives. It was a win-win, really.

Derek could remember Laura talking about the kind of power he felt when he killed. Laura was talking more in regards to being an Alpha and having control over a pack, though, while he was thinking more about the power of taking someone's life. It was funny how such a simple thing could give an Omega the same rush of power as an Alpha.

It was so easy killing him. So easy that he wanted it to be harder. He wanted the man to put up more of a fight so that Derek would get more satisfaction when he killed him, knowing that he had won something. But he didn't put up any fight, almost as if he was expecting to die all along, as if he was welcoming it. His claws slipped into him like he was nothing more than soft butter and it gave him such a rush, even without a struggle.

Derek was smart enough to cover his tracks. He disposed of the body carefully, made sure that it was completely unrecognisable and took out the teeth so the man couldn't be identified by dental records. He sometimes cut their hands off or burnt their prints and smashed their faces in. He never stayed in one place very long and always stayed in shabby motels, ones that didn't look as if they kept very good records of the people that stayed there, and made sure that he blended into the background. In most ways, he didn't fit a pattern because he didn't want to kill anyone specifically; he was just killing to kill.

(A part of Derek realised that he did tend to kill blondes with green eyes more often than any other type of person.)

It was only a week later when Derek killed the next person – he was in a completely new, small, and cosy town that was virtually crime free – and he was happy when the girl put up a fight. She screamed, and threatened him, and did as much as she could to claw and hit him. He had killed her after a few minutes, once the whole thing turned boring. He didn't use his claws this time. This time, he used a knife that he had found in the motel.

The girl hadn't been an important person. She didn't have a very good job and she didn't seem to be very well known. He picked on those types the most, the ones that no one would care about. People who felt obligated would pretend that they did care, going to her funeral and forcing tears over the person that they barely knew, but she would be forgotten within weeks. The only thing he remembered about the way she looked was her eyes. Green.

* * *

Derek decided that he liked killing people more with knives and guns and crowbars – basically any weapon, really - than he did with his bare hands. The weapons created more pain, made the victims scream louder and bleed more, and he took pure delight in that. It was a glorious sight, seeing someone's eyes lose their sparkle, seeing the life run out of them.

It was around his hundredth kill when he went back to Beacon Hills, the day he had found out about his Uncle waking up in the hospital from his coma. Derek had no intention of visiting him – they were never close and it would just bring back memories that he didn't want to revisit – but he wanted to see his home town again and it seemed like the perfect excuse to come back.

"I can't believe you're not coming back to the old house." Laura sighed as she sat down on his sofa, watching as Derek unpacked the few boxes that he had brought with him. She had recently renovated the house, making it liveable again instead of the burnt mess that he had created, and had been pleading for him to come back. He understood why, she didn't want to be alone in there. That didn't make him want to go back, though.

"I prefer it here," he informed her as he gestured around the room with a small shrug. It was pretty small, barely any walls that separated the rooms, and there was something about it that made him feel as if he was at peace.

"Fine, but if you ever get lonely...you know where to find me."

"Hopefully not in my apartment." Derek replied but smiled at her, even if it was forced. He hadn't been able to smile – unless he was killing someone – in a long time. He doubted that even his sister could change that.

"What's wrong with me being in your apartment?" Laura sniffed in mock offence, even though she knew just how much Derek loved being alone and hated the company of other people.

"Don't make this into an argument. I'm fully aware that you can argue with anyone about anything." He told her; after all she had proved that many times.

"No, I couldn't." Laura narrowed her eyes at him and Derek could tell that she was resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

"You just proved my point."

"No, I didn't."

Laura didn't notice anything different about Derek or, at least, she didn't mention it. She didn't put up too much of a protest when he refused to let her look into one of his bags, she pretended not to notice the scent of blood that rolled off Derek and she didn't point out that he was acting stranger than before. She knew that _something _was wrong with Derek. She also knew that she didn't want to know what that thing was and she wasn't sure she ever would. She was scared, more than anything, that asking questions would lead to Derek leaving. She couldn't deal with that again.

She stayed for another two hours, making idle chitchat about what he had been doing recently and how he was feeling. He told her every single detail. Apart from the one about the curly haired boy he had picked up just before coming here and had tied to his bed and left to slowly bleed out, disposing of his body just before Laura had decided to visit him. Siblings had to keep some secrets, right?

* * *

A few weeks after killing the boy – Derek hadn't bothered to find out his name (he had stopped doing that after the first few kills) – there was a knock on the door and a not-so-friendly face behind it. He had been so very careless with his kill, gotten to the point where he was so sure that he wasn't going to get caught, and now the Sheriff was at his door. He offered the man a seat, wanting to come off as polite.

"You were seen offering the boy a ride," Sheriff Stilinski informed him – not mentioning any name – as if Derek had somehow forgotten. Derek had to pride himself on the fact that he kept his face blank, maybe a hint of confusion in his eyes. The man went into detail about how they found the body – he couldn't believe that he'd forgotten to take the boy's teeth out – and had interrogated a few people, many of whom had reported seeing him getting into the car with Derek.

"I don't recall offering anyone a ride." Derek lied through his teeth smoothly. It had been a skill that he'd had to acquire to be good at what he does. "I drove here with Laura and no one else. Maybe they look similar?" He suggested with a small shrug, as if he was trying to be helpful, pretending that he had no idea what the curly haired boy looked like.

He hadn't driven here with Laura but he knew full well that she'd lie for him because he's the only family she has left and she doesn't like being alone, and maybe if she lied for him then he'd stick around like she wants him to, despite her suspicions about him so far.

The Sheriff just stayed quiet, eyes searching his face, obviously looking for something that would give him away. "It's been so hard since I've come here, having to deal with the...pain of losing my family." Derek sighed and the Sheriff didn't speak. He hadn't felt any pain for losing his family in a while; it was just something that he could say to get sympathy, because sympathy leads to him being labelled as nothing more than someone who is having a hard time dealing with loss.

He could see the man lower his head, as if he was ashamed of being here; as if his very presence was the reason he was bringing this up.

It was, really. He knew that the Sheriff's wife had died in the fire, he had known since he had introduced himself, and he knew it would get the man out of his apartment. The police in Beacon Hills weren't exactly the smartest – they hadn't even figured out that there were werewolves around – and a sad sob story was enough to get them to leave him alone for good.

The Sheriff gave a small nod, as if he had just decided something, before getting to his feet and holding his hand out. Derek shook it. "It's been nice seeing you, Mister Hale, and I'm very sorry for your loss but-"

"Please, call me Derek," he chuckled, plastering a stiff smile onto his face. The Sheriff wasn't going to call him Derek. He was going to take the man's life before he had the chance. He was going to tear him slowly apart. He had no idea why he had spent so long deciding on the perfect person to kill in Beacon Hills when that person had just walked ever so unknowingly into his plans.

"But," the Sheriff cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, almost as if he was challenging Derek. He was always ready for a challenge. "I need to take you in to the station and have your apartment searched."

* * *

He was in the station overnight, staying in one of the cells that they had, and he spent most of that time planning out – in his head, of course – just how to kill the Sheriff. He must have come up with hundreds but it didn't take him long to pick his favourite, the one would cause him the most pain.

He was let out early in the morning the next day. The police couldn't find anything that would go towards the murder investigation because he was too careful. He would have to wait a while before putting the plan to kill the Sheriff into action because the police would be watching him now, waiting for him to trip up.

* * *

He had decided to observe the Sheriff. He knew that the man wasn't stupid so he wasn't going to fall for most of his tricks and he knew that people would miss him. He wasn't like his other kills so he couldn't be treated like his other kills. Besides, he was getting sloppy so a kill that had taken all of his time to plan would be good for him, would set his mind back on track; it'd make sure that he wouldn't make the same mistakes again.

It had taken a few months before he decided that it was time to finally seize the opportunity presented and kill the man. He couldn't get out of town straight away, that would look far too suspicious, but he was going to make sure to stay under the police's radar. If he was lucky, maybe he'd be able to swipe some files of himself that the Sheriff most likely kept in the house so the police would have a harder chance of tracking him down.

Derek walked around the house, looking for an open window. He had never learned how to pick locks, didn't see any use in it considering he could pick people up at bars, and smiled when he found an open window. He wondered who could be stupid enough to leave their window open when it was known that there was a killer on the loose that had already taken the life of one of the residents of Beacon Hills. Maybe the person – he knew it wasn't the Sheriff, he knew exactly where his room was – thought that the killer was gone, especially since he hadn't killed in months.

It took him longer than he would admit to climb into the person's room.

Derek closed the window behind him, silently, because an open window would show a way of someone getting inside. He was thankful that his gloves meant that he wouldn't have to wipe any prints later, it would waste too much time. Time that he could spend killing the Sheriff and whoever was in the room. He wanted to make the Sheriff scream and he couldn't have him waking up the person – a boy, he could see from the shape lying on the bed – and then having him call the police. It would ruin Derek's carefully thought out plan.

After he had taken his trusty knife from his bag, he set it on the ground. It had been far too long since he had killed. He twisted the blade in his hand, taking a few steps towards the bed and letting his eyes run over the face of the snoring boy. The boy that looked so soft and fragile, so vulnerable in his sleeping state.

Derek couldn't bring himself to kill him.

He left the house after staring at him for a few moments, even brought the knife to his neck and held it there, but nothing seemed to bring up that urge to kill. From that moment on, he completely lost interest in the Sheriff. He was far too focused on the boy, wanting to find out about him, why he couldn't kill him. He _wanted _to kill him, wanted to tear the boy into shreds, but it was almost as if something was stopping him, a small nagging voice that made him want to make sure the boy wasn't hurt.

He figured out the boy's name – Stiles Stilinski to anyone that couldn't pronounce his name which seemed to be just about everyone - after two weeks of watching him from afar and gathering as much information on him as possible.

Derek would sneak into his room at night, twirling his knife and mentally preparing himself to kill the boy. Or, at the very least, hurt him a little. He looked far too cute when he slept, Derek could never bring himself to harm the boy. Which was frustrating, especially because he spent every day promising himself that it would be the day he would kill him and spend the night watching him, but he never made a move.

After he realised he couldn't kill the object of his obsession, his visits - his very careful visits because he wasn't stupid enough to alert the Sheriff of his presence - took a turn. He'd sneak into his room and take pieces of his clothing, wanting to smell Stiles whenever he wasn't in his room, and follow the boy as often as he could. It was a wonder he was never caught but Stiles seemed too absorbed in his own petty little problems.

* * *

After a few weeks of deciding that there wasn't any point in trying to kill Stiles, Derek had 'accidently' bumped into Stiles in a store and introduced himself, saying he was new in town. Stiles had heard about him. He expected that, considering his father had been keeping a close eye on him – not close enough, really – and he'd found out that Stiles was very nosey. Plus, everyone seemed to whisper about him and his family, everyone having a new story about them to share.

He hadn't heard enough about him, though, because he was all smiles and bright eyes, eagerly chatting away. He couldn't remember a word of what he said, too focused on the way his lips moved as he talked, and he was thankful that he wasn't asked any questions and that Stiles always said 'bye!' before he could get a word in. He seemed to be constantly late for everything, rushing from place to place.

From that day on, he had been running into the teen frequentlyand each time played it off as an accident. It wasn't, of course. It was all carefully planned out; every encounter happened for a reason. He wanted the brunet to like him, to trust him.

His plan seemed to be working considering Stiles was the one that suggested they meet up again, this time on purpose. He wouldn't call their little meet ups 'dates', just getting coffee and giving his boy lifts to places due to the Jeep mysteriously breaking down because of missing pieces, but the time they spent together was close enough to being dates.

He shouldn't have been taking tips from Kate considering how much she screwed him up but he was using the same things she'd done, casually dropping murder and death into almost every conversation.

"Some people say that it causes a power rush," Derek once told him as they drank coffee in a diner, stopping Stiles who was ranting about someone from school. He was always far too chatty – Derek had thought about killing him more than once, just to shut him up – and sometimes he had to interrupt him before he ended up breaking the act of being the nice guy and just lashed out at him.

"Those people are also the ones that kill people, so can we really trust what they say?" He replied and he didn't have to look up from his coffee to know that Stiles was rolling his eyes, that cocky smirk pulling at the sides of his lips. Stiles left no room for Derek to answer, already starting to talk about a new subject. He wondered how the teen could be so easily distracted, how he could jump from one topic to the next within seconds.

Derek was thankful that, most of the time; he didn't have time to respond to what Stiles was saying. He did keep dropping phrases like that into their conversations, mostly to see how the teen would react. It was never the reaction he wanted but it sometimes managed to make him smile. He couldn't tell if it was genuine or not.

* * *

"You're no fun." Stiles complained from where the boy was sprawled across his bed, the comic book he was reading before Derek had came into Stiles' house resting on his chest. "Literally everyone else in my school has tried alcohol."

Derek highly doubted that but he wasn't in the mood to fight with the boy about this so, instead, he just scowled at him, hoping it would be enough to cut this conversation short. It usually was but Stiles seemed insistent to get his way this time.

"Maybe you should drink some beer to loosen up a little." Stiles suggested with a small smirk – he always commented on how Derek needed to brighten up a little and stop being so serious – and he was about to retort that he couldn't get drunk but decided against it. "Come on, it isn't as if I'm going to tell my dad or anything."

The way the teen said it was as if that was what Derek was worried about when it really wasn't. If he cared about what the Sheriff had to say about anything he did, he wouldn't be hanging around with a seventeen year old or killing people for a power rush. It was more that he still wanted to hold onto some morals, trying to convince himself that he still had a little humanity left in him.

Derek didn't believe that he had to lighten up – he was doing fine being, as Stiles put it, sour – but he guessed that he could put up more of an effort. It was all an act to get Stiles to trust him, anyway, so...adjusting to fit what Stiles wanted was just part of what he had to do.

"Laura would buy me alcohol." Stiles insisted with a pout. Derek wished that he'd never taken Stiles to his apartment to meet Laura considering Stiles had taken to her far too quickly.

Maybe he could start with using humour a little more; Stiles seemed to be a big fan of that.

* * *

When he got back to his house, he couldn't bring himself to be surprised to see his older sister sat on his sofa and it wasn't just because he could smell her from outside the building. She had been coming over nearly everyday for some 'bonding time' as she liked to call it. Repeatedly. What did surprise him, though, that she wasn't dancing around in the kitchen to some stupid pop song or snickering to himself as she watched reruns of Family Guy.

She was sat stiffly on the sofa, lips pressed into a firm line as her eyes flickered towards him before lowering to the floor. He'd seen Laura portray a variety of emotions but Derek had never seen her like this.

She seemed...uneasy.

"Derek," She began, taking a deep breath as she kept her gaze fixed ahead "whatever you're doing, it needs to stop." Her words sounded almost rehearsed, as if she'd been over this a thousand times. Probably in her head.

Derek had expected a lot of people to find out about what him being a serial killer – he had no quarrels about calling himself that – but he never expected his sister to find out. Or, at least, confront him about it. He had been too careless around her and he wondered if Beacon Hills was making him clumsy.

Then again, Laura was a werewolf. She would have been able to smell the blood for miles away and she wasn't an idiot. She trusted him, that's probably why it took her so long to put the reek of dead bodies and him being taken into the station together and end up with a pretty stable conclusion about what he had been doing.

Laura didn't expand on what she had said, didn't even bring it up again, and Derek thought – hoped – that maybe she hadn't figured out just what he was doing with his spare time, just that he was doing something he shouldn't be. Maybe if she did know, though, it would be easy for him to figure out what he had been doing wrong.

Laura wasn't threatening to turn him in (he was guessing she would be if she knew his plans included Stiles) so having her know could really be an advantage to him, if he played his cards right. Besides, knowing that he killed one insignificant curly haired boy wouldn't lead her to the conclusion that he was the one that killed their family. Laura still though it was Kate that killed them.

"Do you think you would be able to figure it out if you were human?" Derek questioned once the silence between them had gone on for too long. She lifted her gaze from the floor, this time keeping her eyes firmly on him.

Laura had wanted Derek to deny it, for her younger brother to assure her that it was just her mind making things up. It felt as if all the air in Laura's body had been knocked out of her.

"Probably...probably not." Laura shook her head, voice sounding feeble but not afraid.

* * *

The day Stiles saw him killing someone was one of the best days of his life, even better than his own first kill. When the day started, he was sure that it was going to be like any other. Well, almost. He hadn't had a kill in a while and he had caught scent of a young woman.

The young woman was out shopping at the local grocery store, holding a little girl's hand that had the same eyes as her, and laughing brightly. She seemed as if she hadn't a care in the world and that's what made him want to kill her, she shouldn't be so happy.

The woman didn't see him, he was a very careful person and he didn't want to be seen, but Derek spent the rest of the day watching her. He hadn't a clue when his stalking skills became so good – probably around the time he'd started watching the Sheriff – but he was grateful for it, thankful that he'd managed to track the lady's every movement.

Derek had followed her to some club with music that was too loud and the foul stench of sweat and lust filled the air, making it an almost unbearable place to be. But he had a reason to be there, something he needed to achieve, so he wasn't going to leave because he didn't like the smell. He was going to stay and...dispose of the woman that had a smile that was too bright and eyes that were too green.

He had sat at the bar, letting his eyes follow the woman the best they could as she weaved her way in and out of the crowds of people, laughing with just about everyone she came in contact with. When she went outside, he downed the rest of his drink and he took his chance to make a move.

He'd underestimated just how strong and smart this victim really was. He was expecting her to be like any other kill, to put up a little fight before giving up and accepting her fate.

Clearly, Derek's stalking skills weren't as sharp as he believed them to be considering she must have known that he was following her otherwise she wouldn't have been as prepared as she was. As soon as he was outside, he was being pushed up against the wall and feeling something pierce the skin of his stomach. He felt a sticky warmth began to leak out from the wound and as he tugged his shirt up to get a look at it, he winced at the sight of the crimson blood.

He knew that the wound would heal quite easily but the fact that she had thought it was okay to lash out like that still enraged him, made him want to cause her more pain.

The woman's voice, so loud in the crisp night, rang in his ears; taunting him about how he could not kill her, about how she won. He had let her have her moment. She twisted the knife inside him and he let out a theatrical whimper of pain, even though it didn't hurt nearly as much as he was making it out to be. He slipped his claws out from his nails. As much as he wanted to make the lady suffer, he also wanted to get the knife out of him so he would start to heal.

Derek lifted his hand and, in one swift movement, slit the woman's throat. She dropped to the floor, blood pooled around her body in a short time, and he actually felt a sick sort of peace take over him. There was something about seeing her like that, looking so distressed as blood gushed out of the wound and from her mouth as she chocked it up. It made him feel whole for a moment.

When he lifted his head from the lifeless body, he saw an all too familiar silhouette at the end of the alley. Stiles was standing there with wide eyes but before Derek could say anything, the boy was running away as fast as he could.

Derek didn't make any attempt to follow him. Partly because he knew how squeamish Stiles was and having the teen see him like this – with blood coming from the gash – would just terrify him more but mostly because he didn't have anything to say to explain this. He was never very good with words.

* * *

It wasn't long – forty five minutes, to be exact – until he saw Stiles again. The brunet looked even paler than usual and Derek could easily tell that he had a blade in his pocket to protect himself with. He had been silently watching Stiles, deciding on the right time to approach once again, and had seen the teen slip the knife into his pocket. Derek couldn't blame the boy. He would be scared too if he'd saw someone he thought he knew rip an innocent person to shreds. But with all the hints he had been dropping, someone as bright as Stiles should have worked this out sooner.

Maybe he did. Maybe he was just too scared to ask and now he had all the proof that he needed.

Derek noticed the phone clutched in Stiles' hand – his father was at work right now – and guessed that he was thinking about calling his father but, from what he had seen, Stiles was loyal and trusted Derek. Stiles was probably just waiting for him to give an excuse.

If what he planned to say didn't convince the teen not to call his father, he could always use the 'it was self defence' excuse as a fall back.

"Stiles," Derek began with a calm voice. He had never spoken about his little...activities, so he didn't know how to approach the subject but he was sure that the words would come to him. There wasn't any person better to tell than the object of his obsession, was there?

"Don't," Stiles cut him off as he pressed his lips into a thin line, shoving both of his hands into his pockets. He knew the boy was probably touching the knife, reassuring himself that he could hurt Derek. Well, he _thought_ he could hurt Derek. The odds of Derek being caused any pain – physical, of course – were extremely low. "Don't you have a conscience?"

"Of course I do. It's in a little silver box at the back of my closet screaming, 'Let me out, let me out! You're making bad choices!'" Derek deadpanned, realising that now probably wasn't the best time for dry humour. Stiles did it all the time, though, so he didn't see why he shouldn't.

Stiles didn't look very amused or proud of the fact that he'd taught Derek how to use sarcasm in inappropriate situations.

Derek couldn't bring himself to care too much because he knew that he'd be able to win Stiles over, show him just how satisfying killing could be. It wouldn't be easy – Stiles didn't look like the type to give up on what he had been taught to believe – but he knew that he'd do it.

"What do you want me to say, Stiles?" Derek sighed. He wasn't used to Stiles being quiet for so long. It was actually weird, not hearing his voice, even if it was mostly just background noise for him.

"That you're secretly a magician and what I saw in the alley was just an illusion." Something in the teen's tone told him that he wasn't joking. He knew that Stiles must want an answer, anything that could point away from him being a killer. "Also, you know how to make balloon animals because they are totally cool. When I was seven, I had someone at my birthday that could..."

Derek knew that Stiles was getting nervous, more from the way he was holding himself than the fact that he was talking so much. He always talked a lot; it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. He tuned out what the boy was saying, focusing more on what he should say next. He wanted to urge Stiles onto his side, say something that could show the boy that what he did was right.

"When I was younger, I thought I was in love," Derek informed him, cutting the teen off midsentence. Stiles didn't seem to mind, he was probably used to it. "I wasn't, of course. Have you ever heard of Kate Argent?"

He saw a flicker of recognition in Stiles' eyes before he was shaking his head and moving away from him as Derek took a step forward.

"Don't try and act so oblivious, Stiles."

"I prefer absent minded badass." He could see the hint of a smile tug at the corner of Stiles' lips before he was pressing his lips back into a thin line and ducking his head so Derek couldn't read his expressions anymore.

He thought about sugar-coating the story of him and Kate, making it sound nicer than it was, but decided against it. He wasn't going to add the part about him being just as much to blame for the fire as Kate was because he had a plan. If he convinced Stiles that it was completely Kate's fault, the boy would have a grudge. He could use that to his advantage; he could use it to manipulate Stiles into thinking killing was okay. It'd start with just Kate but once he'd gotten a taste for it Derek knew that he'd want more.

Once had had finished explaining about the fire – about how he was lucky enough to be away at the time and how he'd come back to see Kate fleeing the scene – Stiles looked...conflicted. He knew full well that it was a lot of information to be taking on in such a short amount of time.

"So...you're one of the good guys?" He'd never heard Stiles sound so feeble about anything.

"Good guy, bad guy. All the matters is that I'm the guy with the gun."

* * *

Whenever Derek had dreamed about killing Kate – and he'd dreamed about it so many times – he'd always imagined that he was the one that would go looking for Kate. He had never believed that he would be lucky enough to have Kate just walk into the palm of his hand. Stiles was still conflicted about the whole Derek killing people thing but he had informed him of Kate's arrival. Stiles knew Kate's niece so the teen could keep a pretty close eye on her.

He knew that he made a good choice by telling Stiles this because having someone as bright as Stiles on his side was an advantage, especially when the boy began to help with the plan.

Stiles had said that he wasn't going to be part of the killing but he could help with the planning. Derek was just thankful for any form of help, even if he'd never actually thanked the brunet out loud.

The plan only took a few weeks to perfect – mostly because Derek was far too anxious to wait too long – and it wasn't long before an opportunity came up. Stiles had done the first part because Derek couldn't risk going onto the Argent's property. If he was seen by them, the plan would be ruined.

All the teen had to do was steal something from the engine of Kate's car so it would be dysfunctional. Most people would just get a ride from someone else but he knew Kate, knew just how much she loved her car. She'd take it straight to the garage. The garage was pretty far out of town, in a secluded spot that was perfect for something like an ambush.

From there, it would just be like any other murder. Except, this time, he'd get much more of a thrill from killing her. And the thought of knowing that Stiles had been part of it, had helped out.

* * *

"Isn't it funny how these things work out?" Derek mused as he stood in front of Kate who was currently tied to a chair, a gag in her mouth to make muffle any noise that would alert anyone. "You killed my family and now I'm going to kill you."

He twisted the knife in his hands before moving it towards her cheek, digging it into the skin before slicing it open, taking pleasure in the way blood oozed from the wound.

He had never spent this long on a kill but he wanted to take his time, wanted to make sure that she suffered as much physical pain as possible. He started with scattering her skin with marks, deep enough to cause her pain but shallow enough to make sure that she didn't bleed out. He ripped her teeth and nails out while she was still alive, wishing that he could hear the way she screamed instead of the muffled whimpers that escaped her restricted mouth.

He broke her legs next – something that was quite hard to do when she was tied to a chair – and ripped all of her hair out, not wanting her to be identifiable in any way. He had a feeling the Argents would know but he kind of hoped for that, wanted them to feel the pain of losing a daughter, just like he'd felt the pain of losing his entire family.

He finished her off with a simple method, a drill to the head before decapitating her once she was dead. She had stopped fighting at that point and it had gotten boring the moment she gave up.

As he cleaned up the mess, he heard a feeble voice from the other side of the door.

"Is she dead yet?" Stiles, who was keeping watch, questioned.

"No, I'm sure the doctors can reattach her head."

* * *

After that day, everything was too easy. Apart from convincing the teen not to tell anyone because, really, he was brought up being told that this was the kind of stuff he had to tell people about. Derek did convince him in the end.

He'd eased the boy into watching him kill people, slowly corralled him into thinking it was the right thing. He started off with criminals because, that way, it was easier to convince the boy that this is what they deserved. It wasn't as if Stiles just accepted it all. He was reluctant at first. The first few times, he had thrown up all over the floor at the sight of the blood. When the sound of bones breaking echoed throughout the room, Stiles would often pass out. But, even if he did react like that, he always came back time and time again, wanting to see more of the pain Derek could cause.

Something must have snapped in the kid's head because, by the twentieth person he watched get killed, he appeared to be excited to be watching him do this, seemed like he was beginning to enjoy it. He stopped killing criminals after a while and moved onto people Stiles knew, mainly the kids that bullied him at school so he wouldn't be too opposed to it. They both got a thrill over seeing them beg for their lives and watching them writhe desperately until the light in their eyes dimmed until blackness swallowed them whole.

He'd even let Stiles practise cutting and slicing the dead bodies. He didn't think he was ready for the actual killing but it'd be nice for him to at least find out his favourite weapon; it was either the baseball bat or the blowtorch. Derek was always cautious when Stiles used the blowtorch, making sure that the teen was careful.

* * *

After Stiles graduated, Derek convinced the young man to leave Beacon Hills with him. It wasn't even hard to do; Stiles had become so very loyal to him, willing to do anything to please at a snap of his fingers. They slipped out from Beacon Hills without Sheriff – who was still suspicious of him – or Laura knowing.

It was the Stiles' twenty-first birthday when he finally let him kill, at last he decided that it was time for him to experience just how amazing it could feel to have someone's body beneath your fingers, begging for mercy. It was almost cute when they begged.

They had stopped at another crappy motel, he wanted to take the brunet somewhere nicer but they couldn't risk the chance of leaving a trail for the police to follow, and had gone to the bar just down the street. It was a pretty small town so there were only a handful of people there, Derek preferred it that way. The bartender looked far too sleepy to remember faces; he looked as if he didn't even know he was there.

"Which one?" Derek questioned, voice a hushed whisper as he glanced around the bar. There was a lone man drinking scotch, a woman with strawberry blonde locks texting on her phone and a woman that he was fairly sure he saw slipping off a wedding ring.

He could see the young man's amber eyes flicker from person to person, taking them in. Stiles was more one for doing research about each person, finding out every little detail about them to make sure that they won't get caught. But, today, he didn't have enough time to do research; Derek just wanted him to pick someone and then kill them. He didn't want Stiles worrying over silly little details.

"Her." Stiles hummed as he looked in the direction of the girl with strawberry blonde hair. It was a good choice. The last person they killed was a male brunette so it wouldn't be following a pattern, she looked at least a little tipsy but he couldn't quite see who she was texting. She was texting _someone _so she was probably going to be missed but, well, Stiles had chosen her so he wasn't going to object. "She reminds me of someone from school."

Derek gave a small nod at that, giving Stiles' shoulder a small squeeze before downing his drink and leaving the bar. They had a plan, the same one that they used over and over.

Derek would charm the girl (or guy) - he could practically hear Stiles' voice, asking how he ever managed to charm everyone when he was so grumpy and had 'eyebrows of doom' – but this time it'd be Stiles doing the charming because it was his kill. He would convince the victim to come back to the motel while the one that wasn't doing the charming would be waiting in the bathroom until he heard the signal. Stiles would tell the girl that he wanted to tie her up and gag her because it was 'what he was into' and, once he'd gotten her tied up and gagged, he would begin killing her.

There was a small knock on the bathroom door and Derek's lips twisted into a grin – an actual, genuine one – as he walked from the room, seeing the strawberry blonde girl spread out on the bed, hands tied above her head and eyes wide.

"Caitlyn." Stiles informed him, always one to find out personal information. He was such a bright person and he always seemed to want to learn more and more. He wanted to discover things about people you couldn't get from a first glance. Stiles was more efficient in that respect. Derek didn't care for any of that. He only cared that the girl would be dead by the end of all this.

"She has such a pretty smile, doesn't she?" Stiles questioned – he didn't have that same curious tone that he usually had, his voice was more monotone – with a bright grin still in place as he lifted the knife, making slight cuts at the side of her lips. Derek sat himself down on the edge of the bed, making sure he had the best view of watching Stiles kill the girl; wanting to see every move he made.

He couldn't help but notice how Stiles always seemed calmer when he was doing this. He never flailed around or spoke too much, he was quiet and attentive. It was so different from how he usually was.

Stiles moved the knife to the girl's shirt, dragging it down and ripping the fabric before beginning to cut at her stomach. As she screamed around the gag, Derek could see the cuts Stiles made begin to grow bigger, her cheeks beginning to rip as the muscles moved. He could hear Stiles giggling as he placed the knife on the bed and reached towards his bag, pulling out some pliers.

Stiles was so eager, using an assortment of weapons on the girl, barely even noticing the fact that the girl had died from blood loss half way through, her smile now reaching from ear to ear. And Derek was practically mirroring the expression, smiling through it all. He never did bring up that he had said the name 'Lydia' a few times throughout the kill.

He'd never really imagined himself with a companion, he preferred solitude. He had definitely never imagined a companion as talkative as Stiles, who even insisted on talking when they were watching movies together, commenting on just about everything. But, to be honest, he couldn't imagine having anyone else by his side now that he'd found Stiles.


End file.
